


Subsidiaries

by synapticfoe



Series: beneath and behind [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-12 06:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synapticfoe/pseuds/synapticfoe
Summary: A collection of drabbles - bite-sized and easy to digest - about our favorite android and human squads.Most will be interactions, domestic interactions, between Hank and Connor.





	Subsidiaries

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during chapter 5 of Subcutaneous, after Connor arrives home. It's a little divergent - I know in the main story, Connor tries to make Hank dinner - but I wanted to get something short and sweet out, since it's been over a month.

Hank drums his fingers against the steering wheel. His nails bite into the cracked synthetic leather as he pulls into his driveway.

God, over the phone, Markus had seemed _worried_. By contrast, on TV, he hadn’t seemed the slightest bit worried when he’d led the _entire android revolution_.

Hank’s nervous.

Furious.

What had Markus _said_ to Connor? If he was truly concerned about his well-being, why let Connor out of his sight?

Fuckin’ androids.

He slams the car door shut, bristling against the cold, and checks the living room window.

It’s dark.

Hank’s insides suddenly become well acquainted with the ground. He feels fear spread from his spine like acid, the first seeds of panic starting to take root.

What’s he going to do if Connor isn’t home? Shit. It could take him hours to scour Detroit. With the city as volatile as is, roaming the streets with an LED could be _deadly_ \- Connor could-

He strides up the stairs, unlocks the door in a rush, and pushes inside.

It takes his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark, but Connor’s bright red LED stands out like a beacon. Hank can just barely make out the outline of his partner on the couch, sitting ram-rod straight. He can hear Sumo’s tail rustling against the carpet, his heavy breaths the only sound disturbing the room.

The knot of tension in Hank’s gut unwinds slightly, and he shuts the door behind him, flipping on the lights.

“Connor? Are you alright?”

No response.

Hank sighs. Now that he knows Connor’s home, safe, he has no idea what to do.

“I know you’re upset. I get if you don’t want to talk, but… do you need anythin’?”

No response. Sumo hasn’t stirred from the couch, either.

Hank frowns and moves closer, still watching the couch from behind.

As he approaches, he realizes Sumo’s breathing is rather wheezy. There’s a high-pitched whine behind it, a persistent whirr filtering through.

Wait.

The breathing’s too far up to be Sumo.

Hank rounds the armrest of the chair to see Connor trembling, eyes flat, and chest heaving. A memory rises to the forefront of Hank’s memory – an interrogation room, a case file, and a terrified android.

He drops to the floor in a crouch immediately, eyes roving.

“Connor?”

No response. Hank can feel warm air drag past his face as Connor dispels another shallow breath.

He reaches out, slowly, and taps Connor’s right knee.

A tightened jaw. But empty eyes, still, and a plastic face.

“I need you to talk to me, kid. I can’t help you-”

Connor’s LED surges red, and a fit of twitches overtakes his face, interrupting his breath. He scrunches his eyes and blinks erratically, shoulders jerking, as if to fight something Hank can’t see.

As if he’s fighting an order.

Hank realizes what he’s said, and rushes to amend it.

“Shit, no- It’s alright, Connor. You don’t have to do anythin’, okay? I don’t need you to do anything.”

Connor relaxes. He resumes breathing, even though it’s sharp and quick.

“Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head a fraction of a degree.

“Can you look at me?”

No response.

“Listen- I don’t know what happened between you and Markus. I don’t have to know, either. It’s your choice. But I’m here if you need me, alright?”

Hank isn’t equipped with therapeutic techniques. Doesn’t know how to handle human panic attacks, much less their android equivalent. But he knows nightmares, and stomachaches, and temper tantrums, and thunderstorms.

Cole always calmed down after a record or two of jazz.

He gets to his feet, careful not to make any sudden movements, and lumbers over to the record player.

“And I don’t know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, but you’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to have feelings and no fuckin’ idea out to handle them. You don’t,” he turns, “have to be in control all the time, Connor.”

The thrum of a pluck bass fills the living room, harmony melding with the dissonance of Connor’s harsh breaths. Hank feels the rhythm of the hi-hats, embraces the swoop of the lead saxophone.

Without meaning to, Hank’s humming along. It’s sloppy, and hardly in tune, but he knows the runs of these songs by heart, and his voice follows.

He hears when Connor’s breathing falls in line with the beat, chest expanding and contracting slow and steady. Hank asks for little things – for a tissue, for the remote, for a pillow on Connor’s side of the couch. With every request, Connor’s hands shake a little less.

It takes two and a half records, but finally, Connor’s LED fades to a light yellow.

His shoulders relax. His head slumps. His arms wrap around his ribcage. Wordlessly, he moves off the couch, heading towards the laundry room.

Hank reaches out, snags his forearm. Connor looks at him, and his eyes are simply exhausted.

He opens his arms, questioningly.

The answer is an armful of wrinkled fabric, soft brown hair, and tired android.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is long overdue - sorry about that. I know it's not much, but I hope this can tide you over while I continue to work on the rest of SubQ and also work on getting my new life in order.
> 
> I currently have no A/C and am under sweltering heat, so please forgive the quality *sweats* *literally*


End file.
